The Personal Story of the Wizard John H Watson
by Velveeta Tronix
Summary: First segment in my Hogwarts AU. Contains multiple universes in the context of Hogwarts but Harry was never there. John Watson has been through a lot for an 11 year old and his seven years at Hogwarts aren't going to be any easier on him. No Slash.
1. Year 1 Part A

**Authors Note: I do not own Sherlock or the wonderful version of Sherlock BBC. Nor do I own Harry Potter. Nor all the other characters I use in this. See the list at the bottom to find out who is from what.  
**

* * *

_Blood. There was so much blood. It was everywhere, staining his clothes. The pain was unbearable, rippling through his body. The attack wasn't over. Gunfire still sounded from all around them. All he could focus on though was the pain. It just hurt so much. He'd do anything to make it stop. Anything..._

John Watson woke with a start. Looking around frantically, he realized he was safe at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He relaxed back into his bedding, trying desperately to calm his breathing. It was the middle of the night and John really didn't want to "talk" to one of the Healers. They had been trying since his arrival to get him to talk about his experience, but he wasn't ready. To be honest, John didn't think he'd ever be ready. The good news was that his physical wounds had healed and they'd be releasing him in two days. The better news was that in a month he'd be starting at Hogwarts. John pulled the covers over his head, still tasting blood on his tongue.

* * *

A whistle pierced the air as the Hogwarts Express sat at Platform 9 ¾. Students rushed around the landing, looking for friends they hadn't seen over the summer months. Parents stood with their children, trying to get in last minute good-byes. First years stumbled around, uncertain of what to do.

John stood patiently, waiting to hand off his luggage to the train hands before climbing aboard. Even though this was his first year going to Hogwarts, he had been through the drill the past two years with Harry. As he stood there with his things, he noticed those around him starting to whisper and peek looks in his direction. John shifted awkwardly on his feet, cane helping to support his weight as he landed on his right leg.

"John? John Watson, is that you?" A voice sounded through the crowd. John turned to see a pudgy youth making his way over.

"Yes, um, hello..." John trailed off.

"Mike, Mike Stanford," the other boy offered helpfully, "We met at the Hospital Christmas party last year. My dad works with your uncle. So what's been up with you lately? Last I heard, you were abroad getting shot at. What happened?"

"I got shot," John replied awkwardly.

"Oh, right," the color drained from Mike's face, "Forgot. Hey, I'm really sorry about your uncle. I heard what happened."

"It's okay; I'm okay," John jumped in, wanting to avoid the sympathy conversion that always made him feel odd, "We really weren't that close."

"Oh, alright. Hey, you want to sit with me on the train? I'll buy you a hot chocolate from the trolley," Mike offered.

"Sure," John smiled, "I'd like that."

* * *

"Hufflepuff!"

John Watson felt color rise into his cheeks as the table directly to his right burst into cheers. He hopped of the stool he was sitting on and hobbled quickly over to join them. He was greeted by handshakes and smiling faces. John took his seat, turning to look over where Mike sat with the Ravenclaw second years. Mike just gave him a smile and shrugged. John didn't even bother to check for Harry's reaction.

The Headmaster gave his ending speech and platters of food appeared around the hall. Each table was now covered with delectable meals that smelled like heaven. John filled his plate and dove in. It wasn't until a couple minutes passed that he finally came up to breath again. He found that he was sitting next to a very tall girl with short brown hair. She had a strong build and a dreamer's hazel eyes. The girl smirked at him as he tried to wipe sauce off his face.

"Enjoying yourself?" She asked politely.

"Sorry," he mumbled into his lap.

"Oh it's okay, most people do that the first couple feasts. In fact," she leaned closer to whisper to him, "I know a few 7th years who still pig out every time."

"Hey! I heard that! Quit implying that I'm fat," called someone from down the table. She smiled as those around them roared into laughter.

"Stop eating so much and I will," she called back, she then turned to look at John, "So, Mister John Watson, how do you like Hogwarts?"

"It's amazing," he replied. That was an understatement. The Hall itself was enough to take a person's breath away. It's ceiling was currently a clear night sky, and candles floated lazily above the heads of the students.

"And how do you feel about being placed in Hufflepuff?" Even though the question was asked calmly, John felt as if he had be hit across the face. It must have shown because she smiled. "Don't worry, everyone feels like that at first. I seriously did."

"Does it ever go away?"

"Yeah, it takes some longer than others but eventually everyone comes around. And I think you'll fit in quite nicely, though. Now you better finish eating; the Prefects will be bringing you first years to the common room soon."

John took her advice and went back to attacking his plate. A few minutes later, a male prefect gathered all of them together and they headed out of the Great Hall. John turned to have one last look at the star covered ceiling before rounding a corner.

They headed down to the basements while the other groups went in different directions. John wondered where they were going and decided he should probably pay attention to what the Prefect was saying.

"-mascot is the badger. And unless you couldn't tell, our colors are yellow and black. You'll find your house things already in the rooms with your luggage." He stopped in front of a stack of barrels and tapped out a tune on the one second from the bottom. The lid slid to the side and a tunnel was revealed.

"Now, unlike the other common rooms, we don't have a codeword, but a pattern, which you just saw. If you didn't check it, you can ask once we're inside. Oh! Almost forgot! Now it's true that we are the friendliest house and that we get along with almost anyone-except for a few Ravenclaws; you'll learn about that later-but our common room has not been entered by outsiders in over a thousand years and although we encourage inter-house friendships, we are extremely proud of this record. So, please, refrain from bringing others here."

With that they all climbed through the tunnel into a large circular room. It had a low ceiling and a homey feel. A fire burned below a badger covered mantelpiece and herbs could be seen in every nook. Overstuffed sofas and armchairs cluttered the room, and yellow hangings and burnished copper finished off the look.

"I suggest you all go straight to bed, because tomorrow will be a busy day, and these sofas are way too comfortable," the Prefect told the first years. "You'll find the boy dorms down that tunnel and the girls down this one."

John didn't wait for another word. He headed straight down the tunnel and found the first year dormitories with little trouble. He didn't even bother unpacking. He just put on his pajamas and flopped onto his four-poster bed. Comfortable, warm, and completely exhausted, it took only seconds for John to slip into sleep-just long enough for him to think: _I could get used to this._

* * *

It wasn't until lunch the next day that John saw the tall girl again. Well, he might have passed her in the hallway, but the whole morning had been a blur of passing time spent being pushed along in a wave of first years.

She was sitting with a group which appeared to consist of multiple years, but was having a good time all the same. Just then, she looked up and spotted John. She motioned for him to join them.

"So, how's your first day been John?" She asked.

"Um, good. At least, I think it was. It's all kind of a jumble right now," he admitted.

"Don't worry, it gets better," she smiled. He sat down with them and started to eat his lunch when he realized something.

"Wait, hey what's your name?"

"Hm? Oh, right, I never introduced myself. 'Name's Keladry Mindelan, but most people call me Kel."

"Well, pleased to meet you Kel."

She gave him a small smile, but her hazel eyes twinkled with amusement. Kel turned back to talk to her friends and John ate his lunch. After a little while, the bells chimed, signaling the end of the hour. People all throughout the Great Hall rose from their seats and made their way to their classes. John pulled out his schedule to see where he was going next.

"History of Magic," Kel read over his shoulder, "Professor Olau teaches that. I've got a free hour; I'll walk with you."

She led him out of the Great Hall and through the castle's maze of hallways. They finally arrived at the classroom. Upon entering, John found himself in a room lined with books. At the front was a desk piled high with strange metal devices and a green chalk board. John wondered what a school of magic needed with a muggle board.

"Go find a seat John," Kel told him quietly, then went to stand in the corner.

It wasn't like there was an abundance of choices. Only two seats were available. One was next to a pair of Gryffindors who were throwing things at each other, and the second was in the back next to a raven haired Slytherin. John made his way over to the boy in green.

"Anybody sitting here?" He asked the Slytherin. The boy studied him for a moment.

"No." John paused.

"May I?" He gestured towards the seat. The boy narrowed his eyes, but gave John a small nod.

The door opened and the wad of parchment that the Gryffindors were throwing froze in the air. The room went quiet as a plump, bearded man made his way to the front of the room. He paused for a moment to look at them before smiling good-heartedly.

"Welcome back, students, to another year at Hogwarts," he announced, "Well, seeing as you're first years, just welcome. I am Professor Olau, and this is History of Magic. And although I understand that it is necessary to enjoy your time here, I would appreciate it if you could not make a mess of my classroom." He looked pointedly at the Gryffindor pair, who avoided his gaze. With a flick of his wand, the floating parchment flung into the nearest waste bin. "Ms. Mindelan, can I help you with something?"

"Yes, Professor, I seem to have a free hour," Kel told him.

"Hm, I'll see what I can do about it," Olau nodded to her and Kel left the room, winking at John as she passed.

With that, Olau started his lesson, and for the first time all day, John found that he was paying attention. Even though it was just a summary of what they were going to do for the upcoming year, Professor Olau had a way of making it interesting. He joked with the students and behind him the chalkboard magically displayed scenes of battles as he mentioned them. Halfway through the hour, Olau allowed them to start on their homework for their other classes.

John gratefully whipped out his Charms book and started on his three page essay due the next day. The rest of the class had settled into a low roar, talking to friends with their books open. John was suddenly poked on the arm. He turned to find the raven-haired Slytherin looking at him.

"Yes?"

"Can I borrow your Transfiguration book? I forgot mine," the Slytherin youth said.

"Yeah, sure," John dug through his bag and handed over the book. The boy flipped it open and glanced at a page for a moment before giving it back. John smiled at him and turned to his work.

"So, is he disappointed?"

"What?"

"Your brother, Harry," the kid said, as if it was obvious, "Is he disappointed that you ended up in Hufflepuff and not Gryffindor?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Doesn't matter," the bell rang, "Laters."

* * *

John finally spotted the strange boy again that evening. The Slytherin was sitting on a window ledge in the library reading a newspaper. John was with Mike Stanford and a few other second years, studying at one of the tables.

"That's Sherlock Holmes," Mike commented, noticing where John was looking, "Why are you interested in him?"

"He's in my History of Magic class and well, he..."

"He just knew stuff about your life without being told? Yeah, he does that."

"Um, how does he-" John began.

"I have no idea," Mike cut in, "But you're welcome to ask him. Here, I'll introduce you, he's always coming around the Hospital." So they walked over to the raven-haired first year.

"Hey, Sherlock, I've someone here who has a question for you," Mike started, "This is John Watson."

"Ah, the psychosomatic limper," Sherlock said with a brief look up from his paper, "Stanford, have you seen the news? There's been another poison victim."

"Yeah, Beth Davenport. She worked for the ministry. Awful stuff, this poison. My dad said it sends the person into seizures before they faint, and, without a counter potion, they die within a day."

"Thats all well and good, but not at all what I'm interested in."

"So, what are you interested in, Sherlock? If it's not the suffering of others," Mike crossed his arms in frustration. Sherlock looked at him for a moment.

"Never mind," the Slytherin grumbled.

"Right, so I'm going to go study," Mike stomped away, "John, he's all yours."

John just stood there, unsure of what to do. Sherlock had gone back to the newspaper. After a long moment, he looked up again.

"You're still here?"

"Well, yes," John answered, "I was wondering how you knew all that stuff before. About Harry." Sherlock studied him before answering.

"Your textbook."

"What?"

"Your textbook. It's a hand-me down; the pages are tattered and stained. From there, it was merely ruling out choices. Ravenclaws practically worship knowledge; they would never allow a book to get in that state. If it had been a Slytherin's, there would be traces of mold, seeing as our common room is the perfect breeding ground for the stuff. Hufflepuffs are the careful sort, and they would never forget a book someplace. Mine as well leave it outside overnight as yours has clearly been on multiple occasions, so that leaves Gryffindor," he paused and studied John's face for a reaction.

"Why do you think Harry would be disappointed in me for being a Hufflepuff?"

"Well, he is a Gryffindor. They think that they're God's gift to humanity. In their eyes, why would anyone not want to be a Gryffindor? That thinking leads them to see everyone else is second class, but, then again, Ravenclaws and Slytherin have the same ideology."

"But Hufflepuff don't?"

"No, you're all too humble. Never wanting to pick fights and all that," Sherlock elaborated, "You're a highly unrealistic bunch if you ask me."

"Good thing no one is," John laughed. Sherlock tilted his head slightly.

"Do you mind the violin?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Meet me later, after curfew. I'd like to show you something interesting," the Slytherin said.

"What?"

"You'll appreciate it, I think." He began to pick up his things before pausing to look at John again. "Yes, most definitely. Well, see you then." He wrapped a green scarf around his neck and walked away.

"Wait!" John rushed after him, almost tripping over when his cane caught on a table leg. "Is that it?"

"Is that what?" Sherlock turned to face him.

"We've only just met and you expect me to break the rules? On the first day of classes?" John dropped his voice to a whisper so the librarian wouldn't hear them.

"Problem?"

"We don't know anything about each other," John started, "I don't know where we're to meet, and I barely know the layout of the castle." A sly smirk appeared on Sherlock's face.

"I know you're the nephew of the Ministry's Afghanistan Ambassador. I know that you were visiting him this summer when you were injured. I know you have a mother who's concerned about you, but you won't talk to her. I know you have an older brother who you don't approve of. Possibly because of his drinking, more likely because he just broke up with his long-standing girlfriend. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

Sherlock resumed leaving, only to pause briefly in the library door. He turned once again to look at John.

"The time's 10 o'clock. And the room is 221b, in the West Wing." He walked away.

John stumbled over to rejoin the Ravenclaws. He sat silently before looking up at Mike, who just smiled.

"Yeah," Mike said, "he's always like that."

* * *

John wasn't a goody-two-shoes, but neither was he a rule breaker. He was the type of kid that would bend things here and there if he didn't agree with status quo, but if that Holmes boy thought John was going to break curfew on the first day of classes, then he had another thing coming.

The clock had just chimed half-past the ninth hour when John was tapped on the shoulder. He was sitting in a large yellow chair by the fire, listening to the idle chatter of those who were still up.

"Hey," asked an attractive blond haired girl, "are you John Watson?"

"Uh, yes."

"Cool, this Slytherin kid told me to give this to you." She handed him a sealed envelope and strolled away with a flick of her hair. John broke that wax and unfolded the paper, to find three words scribbled there.

** Don't be late.**

He let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead in frustration. John looked up when he sensed someone to his left.

"You alright?" asked Kel.

"Yeah, just fine," he replied. She crossed her arms, waiting. "Alright, there's this frie- Kid, who wants me to meet him in the West Wing somewhere at 10, but I'm not sure if I should."

"It's pasted curfew."

"Yes."

"You don't know how to get there."

"Yup."

"And it's only the first day of classes-kind of early to be getting in trouble."

"Exactly my poi-"

"Do you want to?" she interjected.

"What?"

"Do you want to break the rules and go meet up with this kid?"

"Yeah," John replied after thinking it over, "yeah, I do."

"Well, then, Mr. Watson," smiled Kel, "looks like we need to find you a guide."

There weren't many people left in the common room to choose from but Kel walked right up to a boy reading in the corner. They exchanged words before returning. He looked to be a fourth year, with dark eyes and light blond hair.

"Kel tells me you need a guide to find your way around the castle," he stated calmly, slipping his hands into his pockets, "You know wandering the castle after curfew is against the rules?"

John nodded.

"Right, come on then," the boy lead John to the exit tunnel.

Once outside the dormitory they took a side route around the Main Entrance and scurried up a stairwell. The only light to be seen was coming from the end of the fourth years wand. They ducked into open classrooms twice to avoid Prefects and had to take the long way around the Quad because Peeves the Poltergeist had decided it was a good time to TP that section of the castle.

"Well, this is the West Wing," said the boy, "I trust you can find your way back?"

"Yup, thanks," John replied, "You really didn't have to do this, you know."

"Are you kidding? I was looking for an excuse to stop reading that book all evening," he admitted, "Besides, the other Houses might not know it, but Hufflepuffs sneak out all the time." He waved to John and headed back the way they had come.

It didn't take John long to find room 221b on his own. He was about to knock on the door when the sound of footsteps hit his ears. Frantic, John looked for a hiding place but came up short. He turned to face his fate head-on, only to find Sherlock Holmes coming around the bend.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," said John quietly.

"No need to whisper," Sherlock informed him, "I have a deal with the Prefect who patrols the West Wing, Miss Hudson. She owes me a favor. I helped her out a couple years back when her father got sentenced to death in Florida."

"You stopped her father from being executed?"

"Oh, no I insured it," he replied with a smile, pointing his wand at the door. "Alohomora."

It opened to a staircase. Sherlock bounded up the steps two at a time while John limped behind him. At the top was a landing with doors leading off in multiple directions. Sherlock walked through the one directly ahead of them. When John walked into the room, the first thing he noticed was the mess. There were papers strewn about and beakers holding colorful liquids on every flat surface. He turned around to find Sherlock staring at him.

"What is this place?" John asked.

"A Professor's living space, unoccupied. Of course," explained Sherlock, "that was until I found it. Now I use it to hold things that either do not fit or would not be appreciated in my dorm room."

"We've been here one day. How in the world did you manage to get all of this stuff here in that time?"

"There is more than one way to get into this castle."

John got the feeling that was all the explanation he was going to get. He let out a sigh and asked a question of more relevance.

"So what is it you wanted to show me?"

"Ah, yes, that. Right over here," Sherlock stepped over to the fireplace and picked up a box placed beside it. He put the box on the coffee table. John came up beside him, looking at it with concern.

"Ready?" Sherlock asked him.

"For what?" He never got an answer, for at that moment Sherlock opened the box and out shot a flash of white. It zoomed around the room for some time before settling on the mantlepiece.

"Is that a dinosaur?" John asked shocked. The creature looking at him was like none he had ever seen before. It appeared to be some sort of bird, except it lacked feathers. In fact, it lacked anything that would classify it as living. All it had was a skeleton.

"An archeopteryx, actually," Sherlock informed him.

"Huh? A what? Wait. How? How is that thing, well, moving? Didn't they go extinct ages ago? And it doesn't even have muscles!"

"A few years back, a student here was briefly given the power to raise the dead. This creature is one of the things that was brought back."

"Given by who?"

"Irrelevant. Besides that is not what I brought you here to see. I brought you here to show you what it could do."

"Of course, because an undead, flying skeleton isn't good enough," stated John sarcastically, "It has to do something."

"Just watch." John turned to find a that a violin had appeared in Sherlock's hands. With one fluid motion he let off an array of notes. Music filled the once silent room, and, to John's surprise, the creature looked interested. It tilted its head to the side as if listening with non-existent ears before leaping from its perch to land on the floor. It swung its tail to and fro for a moment finding the beat of the tune. Then it did the strangest thing John has ever witnessed: it began to dance. The skeleton pranced around the room in a performance more captivating than a ballerina. When Sherlock had finished his song, the creature alighted once again atop the mantle piece.

"That was amazing," said John, after a moment.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they headed back to the their dorms for the evening. The creature was nestled back in it's box.

"That thing is really quite amazing," John commented as Sherlock locked the door behind them.

"Yes, well, I'll need you to look after it every Monday and Thursday," he said. John stopped in his tracks.

"What?"

"Looking at my schedule, those are my busiest days and I'll need someone else to look after it."

"Why can't you ask that Prefect girl you know?" Asked John.

"It doesn't like her."

"So what you're saying," stated John, leaning heavily on his cane, "is that not only did you make me break curfew the day I meet you but you're also going to have me care for your weird dinosaur thing? That's not a very good way to make friends, Sherlock."

"John, I don't have friends."

"Yeah, I can tell," John mumbled pushing past the Slytherin, "In the future, tell me when you're going to use me, at least."

They continued walking for some minutes in silence. Eventually, it came time for them to split ways. John was about to say good-night when he noticed Sherlock staring at him.

"So, did I get it right?"

"What right?

"What I said earlier," explained Sherlock, "That your brother will be disappointed because you didn't get into Gryffindor like he did. That you don't like him because he just broke up with his girlfriend, Clara."

"How did you know her name?"

"Irrelevant. Well?"

"Yes, Harry's probably disappointed. Do I care? No, We've never really gotten along, and Harry breaking up with Clara did worsen our relationship. You were also right in that Harry is a drinker."

"Ten for ten. Wasn't expecting that."

"Harry is short for Harriet."

"A sister! It's alway one thing!"

John Watson walked away, smiling as the distressed tones of Sherlock Holmes faded behind him.

* * *

John returned to the Hufflepuff common room just past 11pm, and it was deserted. He was about to head to bed when a voice sounded behind him.

"Back so soon?" The boy who had been John's guide asked from a seat by the fire. He still had his book from earlier.

"Yeah. Why are you still up?"

"Kel wanted to make sure you got back safe," he replied, "I volunteered to take her place. She gets grumpy if she doesn't get enough sleep."

"And you don't? What if I had not come back?"

"If you weren't back by one in the morning," he said standing up for his seat, "then I would have gotten the House Elves to help me look for you."

"That really isn't necessary."

"'Course not, you're back."

"No I mean," John corrected, "you really shouldn't worry about me. I'm just a little First Year."

"That's what Hufflepuffs do, John. We Badgers stick together." The boy smiled at John's shocked face. "Well I don't think I'm getting any further with this book; just gonna wing the test tomorrow. Night, John."

"Good night."

* * *

That Thursday, John took care of the skeleton creature. He wasn't really sure as to what to do, seeing as the thing didn't eat. So he spent an hour staring at and eventually talking to it. When he left, John locked the door behind him. Walking through the West Wing he heard footsteps come up behind him. John spun around to find a Gryffindor Prefect with dirty-blond hair smiling at him.

"You must be John Watson," she said pleasantly.

"Yes. Um, would you happen to be Miss Hudson, perchance?"

"Sherlock really needs to get over that habit of calling people by there last names. Come on, I'll walk you back to your dorm," she offered. They walked in quiet conversation for several minutes before another girl stopped them.

"What do we have here?" asked the newly arrived Ravenclaw Prefect matter-a-factly. "A First Year wandering the halls after curfew. That will be ten points from Huffle-"

"I already took care of it," cut in Miss Hudson, "I'm bringing him back to his dorm now."

"There seems to be quite a lot of activity in the West Wing under your watch, Anna," the other girl commented.

"I'd be more concerned about what happens in your own section at night, Maria. Have you gotten the shoes Peeves glued to the ceiling down yet?"

"Watch yourself Hudson," the girl said taking a step forward, "You don't want to get in trouble with the Headmaster now. What's your name your name Hufflepuff?"

"John Watson," he replied.

"Don't let this happen again," said Maria, walking away.

"Don't let her get to you, John," Anne commented, "She can be nice when she wants to be but she's kind of a stickler to the rules."

"If you say so."

"You know this means I'll have to take points away, right? Otherwise she'll know."

"I kind of guessed that," he admitted.

"Well," sighed Anne, lifting her wand, "Ten points from Hufflepuff." There was a small popping sound, like a bubble. "My guess is you'll be hearing that a lot."

* * *

**Authors Note Con:**

**From Tamora Pierce Universe- Keladry Mindelan and Professor Olau  
**

**From Marvel Universe- Maria Hill**

**I'm hoping to have all seven years for John. Right now I'm working on part C of his first year. This is taking forever and becoming way longer then I expected. I also what to write from other peoples perspectives (AU remember) but the amount I'm planing on probably won't happen. I promise though to not end it in the middle of a year. When I'm done with the section I'm working on I'll post part B. Don't know how long that will take though with school and all.**

**Thanks to everyone who looked this over and helped me edit. **


	2. Year 1 Part B

**Authors** **Note: I own nothing, though I wish I did. See bottom for more.  
**

* * *

It took Sherlock Holmes three weeks to start sitting at the Hufflepuff table for meals. John Watson had noticed him attempting it previous to then, and he had gotten close, but always ended up scurrying away. John turned out to be one of the few people who could tolerated him. It seemed that Sherlock had this nasty ability to piss people off with his "deductions", as he liked calling them. Even though John would lecture him about being rude, he was always amazed at Sherlock's accuracy.

"You need to eat more," John commented one day at lunch time, placing the roll he had just buttered across the table on Sherlock's plate.

"Eating is a distraction I can't afford when working on a case." Sherlock place his elbows on the table, hands flat together. He closed his eyes.

"A case? That's stuff Aurors have to deal with, not us."

"When the Aurors are out of their league, which is always, they come to me."

"Sherlock, you're eleven." Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he proceeded to glare across the table at John.

"You have no idea what it is I do," complained Sherlock, "This isn't some parlor trick, John. It's a science."

"Science is for Muggles."

"In my opinion we would do well to learn a thing or two from Muggles," Sherlock grumbled to himself. John stared at him, stunned. Sherlock picked up his spoon and started sipping away at his soup. It took him a bit to see John's expression.

"What?"

"I never thought I'd hear that from a Slytherin," John admitted.

"I'm not like most Slytherin; heck I'm not like most people, John. Normal is not something I strive to be."

"I know. It's just weird."

Their conversation was then interrupted by a yell.

"Sherlock Holmes!"

John sighed.

"What did you do now?"

"Looks like we're about to find out."

They turned to the halls entrance to find the boy who had acted as John's guide on the first night coming towards them. He walked right up to Sherlock and gave him a stern look.

"What is this about?" Asked the older Hufflepuff, waving a letter in Sherlock's face.

"You'll have to be more specific."

"The messages to my father, Sherlock. He was in the middle of a press conference and your paper airplane things kept swarming the people. They all said 'Wrong'." He paused to take a breath. "Why do you have to make my life difficult?"

"His theory of the poisonings being suicides is ridiculous. Even you should be able to see that they're connected, Lestrade." Sherlock responded. "It's murder, all of it. I don't know how, not yet. But I intend to."

"That said," stated Lestrade, "you still shouldn't embarrass my dad like that. He's a Auror and deserves respect."

"And yet he still can't tell the difference between-"

"Guys, this isn't really the place to hold this conversation," John jumped in. The entire hall had fallen silent. Everyone was staring at them.

"Alright." Lestrade straightened up. "But we will have more words on this topic. John, I'll see you in the common room."

He started to walk over to people in his year when a voice called from the Gryffindor table.

"He's a freak, Lestrade." A girl with curly brown hair stood up. "You really should stop him from embarrassing your father."

"When you find out how he does it, Donovan," Lestrade called back, "Go right ahead and do that. Until then, mind your own business."

* * *

After lunch John and Sherlock made their way to Professor Olau's room for class. They settled at the back table that had become theirs. John took out a quill and parchment in anticipation of notes. Sherlock sat silently next to him, thinking.

"Hey John." Kel walked over to them. "I heard about lunch."

"Yeah, that was a mess," John admitted. "Oh, I don't think you guys have met. Kel, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is my friend Kel Mindelan."

Sherlock's face tightened at the introduction but he gave her a quick nod.

"So, Kel," said John, turning back to her, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going to help Profes-"

"Teacher's assistant," Sherlock interrupted. "Our next lessons are on the magic of ancient Asia, with an emphasis on Japan. Which her father is the Ministry's current Ambassador to."

"How did you-"

"Your morning tea. It's always the traditional matcha and not the Westernised green tea. Judging by the confidence in your physical abilities and emotional discipline, you've spent a significant amount of your upbringing in the charge of trained fighters, most likely a modern branch of Yamabushi. But you suffer from a phobia of heights. Probably caused by traumatic childhood experience."

"Okay, Sherlock, you can stop now," John told him sternly. "I'm really sorry about that, Kel. Sometimes he just, well."

"It's alright, John," she assured, "No harm done. I am not bothered by people knowing my history. Or my fears."

She continued to talk to John until Olau arrived. Sherlock remained quiet for half the class. He finally raised his hand and asked to use the lavatory.

"Remember to take care of the creature tonight," he told John.

He didn't come back.

* * *

It was two weeks into October when John found a tall Gryffindor waiting outside his Charms classroom. The guy had light brown hair pulled back from a widows peak and looked to be about 16.

"Hey," he called to the students exiting the class, "have any of you Hufflepuffs seen Kel Mindelan today?"

"She's sick," answered John. "She was sent to the Infirmary this morning with a nasty case of food poisoning. They fixed her up but she has to stay in bed for the day."

"And she didn't come to me?" He looked genuinely offended by the idea. "I could have had her on her feet again in half the time. Anyway, tell her Neal hopes she gets better soon."

"Will do," John replied. With a nod the older boy took off down the hall.

* * *

John was short for his age. He knew that. And if his family was anything to go by, he'd alway be short compared to others. Being honest with himself, it was really a surprise how long it took the bullies to start picking on him. Especially with bum leg and an acquaintance like Sherlock Holmes.

It was just after the Halloween feast when they found him limping through the halls alone. Even though it was before curfew, most people had retired to the common rooms to digest and hang with friends. John had been out attempting to tidy up things in Sherlock's flat when the genius had shown up and undone his work in a matter of seconds. He slipped out of the living space unnoticed by Sherlock, who was now talking through an idea with Skull, the skeleton bird. Halfway back to the Hufflepuff dorm John was stopped by a group of older Slytherins.

"Look what we have here boys," the Prefect, and clear leader, said, "A little-bitty Badger away from the den."

"Thats a shame," said a Fourth Year, "who knows what kind of danger you can get in out of that hole of theirs."

"Please," John said, unwavered by their approach, "I don't want any trouble."

"They never do," commented a bony Fifth Year.

"I know this one," added the last of the group, a regal-looking youth with dark skin. "He's the one that hangs out with the Holmes boy."

"If thats the case then we owe you a special beating," the Fourth Year said.

"See if it wasn't for you, the freak wouldn't be here," explained the Fifth Year. "He'd have left by now. But you had to go and make him feel accepted."

"We've got a little 'thank you' for you, Badger," ended the Prefect. At this point they had surrounded John. He had his back against the wall, trapped.

"Expelliarmus!" Cried the dark skinned youth, casting John's wand aside before he had a chance to lift it. Resting his right hip on the wall behind him, John raised his cane like a sword. The Slytherins laughed and cast that aside as well. John now stood defenseless with four wands pointed at his chest.

"Leave him alone Joren." Kel stood at the end of the hall, wand out.

"The Lump," said the Prefect drily. "Should have know you'd show up."

"How about you just walk away," she recommended.

"How about," said the Fifth Year, "no."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, John and Kel sat leaning against the wall. John had a black eye and a split lip. He was pretty sure Kel's nose was broken, judging by the angle. Both were now covered in bruises. But then again, it could have been a lot worse.

"That wasn't how I planned to spend the evening," said Kel, holding a cloth to her nose to stop the bleeding.

"Yeah, this is better," John commented. Kel gave him a look. "I thought I was going to be stuck listening to Sherlock talk for a few hours."

"He can't be that bad."

"No, he's worse."

"But you like it." Now it was John's turn to give her a look. She shrugged. "I know your type, John. If you had a normal life, you'd be bored."

"Still. It's one thing to want adventure, it's another altogether to be able to handle it," he stated with frustration. "I can't do a thing with this damn leg!"

"Now that's something I can help out with," Kel told him, "Sherlock was right, about me having grown up with Yamabushi. I've been trained since the age of four in physical and magical combat. I'm sure I could teach you something to keep your head above water."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she smiled at him.

"What in the world happened here?" Lestrade came storming down the hallway towards them.

"Fell down the stairs," they answered together.

That's how John came to spend his Tuesday evenings training with Kel.

* * *

It was the on the last visit to Hogsmeade before the Christmas holiday when it happened. As First Years, John and Sherlock couldn't go on the trip. So they were passing time in Sherlock's flat. Sherlock was throwing spells around the room while John attempted to do homework.

"Can you cut that out?" John asked after one almost took his ear off.

"Bored," complained Sherlock.

"I thought you were trying to figure out the serial poisoning case."

"I was but Lestrade banned me from looking into it. So now I'm bored."

"Well there's plenty you could do. Like homework, or practice your violin, or play with Skull." With each suggestion Sherlock's face got tighter.

"No."

"Fine, whatever. Do what you want. But get out of this mood quick because Anne should be coming back from Honeydukes any minute with sweets. She won't give us any if you're in a bad mood."

"Hello, dears," she said in greeting coming up the stairs.

"Miss Hudson, did you get John some candy? He's been talking about it all morning," complained Sherlock moving to look out the window.

"Why so grumpy Sherlock? I thought you'd be working on the poison case," Anne said, "Three exactly the same, seems right up your street."

"Lestrade forbid him to," explained John popping a sweet in his mouth.

"I'll have a word with him. I don't see any harm in-"

"Four," Sherlock interrupted.

"What?" John asked around a mouth full of candy.

"There's been a fourth."

* * *

Ten minutes later Lestrade came thundering up the stairs into the flat.

"Another," stated Sherlock.

"Yeah," Lestrade confirmed breathless.

"This one's different, you wouldn't come get me otherwise."

"You know how they never leave a note?"

"Yeah."

"Well, this one did," said Lestrade, "You coming?"

"Who else are you getting?"

"Donovan, Anderson-"

"Anderson won't work with me," Sherlock said, "Plus he doesn't know half the stuff you credit him with."

"Well bring John if you want someone to work with. I'll see if Queenscove is available, better?"

"What?" John choked out.

"Yes," admitted Sherlock.

"So are you coming?"

"Be right behind you." Lestrade nodded and sprinted back down the stairs. Sherlock waited till he heard the hallway door close before jumping into the air.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides and now a note. Oh, Christmas has come early!" He then began hurrying around collecting the winter clothes he would need.

"Look at him bustling about," Anne commented as she and John watched Sherlock scurrying around, "Always in a hurry. Would you like some tea John?"

"Uh, sure, that'd be lovely, thanks," he replied.

"Just this once, I'm not your housekeeper." She moved off to look for a pot.

"You're the nephew of an Ambassador," stated Sherlock, wrapping a green scarf around his neck.

"Yes," John confirmed getting up from his seat, "Sherlock, why did you said I'd come wi-"

"Seen a lot of injuries while you were over there. Violent deaths," Sherlock continued.

"Yes. Sherlock, you need to stop assuming I'll-"

"A bit of trouble too."

"Of course, you know that. Enough. For a lifetime, far too much." There was a pause.

"Wanna see some more?"

"Oh god yes," John said without hesitation. Then he thought of his conversation with Kel and smiled. He grabbed his robe and started putting on his gloves.

"Sorry Anne, I'll skip the tea. Pop out," John called.

"Both of you?" She came to stand in the doorway to the kitchen section.

"Possible suicides, four of them? There's no point," Sherlock told her, "sitting here when there's finally something fun going on."

"Look at you, all happy; its not decent," Anne said following them down the stairs.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Miss Hudson, is on!" Sherlock walked swiftly down the hallway with John at his heels. "Could be late, get us dinner from the Great Hall."

"I'm a Prefect, not your housekeeper!" She called from the doorway of 221b.

* * *

When they arrived at the front court yard the others had already started gathering.

"What are you doing here?" asked a Gryffindor girl John recognised.

"I was invited," Sherlock replied.

"Why?"

"I think Lestrade wants me to take a look."

"Well," she said, "you know what I think-"

"Always, Donovan," said Sherlock with a smile.

"Uh, who's this?" She said pointing at John.

"Ah, this is John Watson. John, Sally Donovan. He's a-"

"Colleague," John finished. Sherlock frowned slightly.

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague?" She turned to John. "Did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I didn't come?" he asked.

"No," Sherlock said quickly. He then looked over to the other boy there, a Ravenclaw. "Ah, Anderson here we are again."

"We're going to a crime scene," the boy said, "I don't want it contaminated, are we clear on that?"

"Quite clear," Sherlock confirmed before adding, "and is your girlfriend away for long?"

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out." Anderson crossed his arms. "Somebody told you."

"Your smell did."

"My smell?"

"It's of the Ravenclaw dorm."

"Of course it is. I'm a Ravencl-"

"It's also on Donovan." Anderson turned to look at the Gryffindor in question, who was shocked.

"Now whatever you're trying to imply-"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm sure-"

"Alright, enough you lot," said Lestrade coming down from the castle. He was followed by Kel and her older Gryffindor friend, Neal. "Come on now, we don't have that long before the adults show up."

* * *

When the group got to Hogsmeade the winter sun had already set. John was surprised that they were able to get by the teachers on watch so easily. Lestrade had just shown them a note and they let the students pass. He lead the group through the snowy town, down a side street, and into an old building. There they found the body face down on the third floor with the word 'Rache' carved into the floor next to it.

"Been here for a couple hours as far as we can tell," Lestrade told them as they crowded in the small room, "Already went through the full effect and died before she was found. Some local kids, Sally I was hoping you'd handle the questioning. They're being held in a room on the first floor."

"On it." She headed back down the stairs. Anderson had already put on gloves and started patting down the body. Out from her cloak pocket he pulled a wallet.

"'Jennifer Wilson'," he read from a card before handing it to Lestrade.

"John, Kel," said Lestrade turning to them, "Where are Sherlock and Neal?"

"Uh," stammered John just realizing their absence.

"I'll find them." Kel took off down the stairs. John continued to watch Lestrade and Anderson go about their business until he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He turned to find the Ravenclaw Prefect Maria standing arms crossed in the doorway.

"I said you could bring a few people. Not the entire underclass," she complained.

"You said I could bring who I saw fit," Lestrade replied. "They all have a reason for being here." Just then Sherlock came up the stairs. He walked into the room and spun in a circle, taking in everything, before finally settling next to the body.

"What's his?" Maria asked pointing at Sherlock.

"Well he's-"

"I, Miss Hill," Sherlock interrupted without looking up, "am going to catch you a murderer."

"Murder? Looks like suicide to me," Anderson said. Sherlock ignored him.

"Right, sure," continued Maria, "Then what's with the Hufflepuff?"

"Sherlock wouldn't come without him," explained Lestrade. His comment caused John to shift uncomfortably in the corner.

"Well I found Sherlock," said Kel entering the room, "No sign of Neal though."

"And what is your purpose in being here?" Maria asked her.

"I'm here to make sure Neal doesn't lick the body," she replied straight faced.

"I would do no such thing." The Gryffindor boy entered the room, taking a swig of a golden liquid as he did so.

"Where the heck have you been?" Lestrade asked him.

"Was thirsty," replied Neal raising his glass for the others to see.

"I can't work with all this chatter," Sherlock stated, glaring at them.

"Right," said Lestrade, "Who do you need?"

"John and Queenscove are plenty," answered Sherlock.

"Fine. Anderson, check on Sally. Kel," Lestrade continued, "you see what food you can rustle up for Neal. Thats seems to be the only thing keeping him focused."

"Hey!"

"Maria you-"

"Don't order me around, Lestrade. I'm not one of your lackeys." She paused looking over the scene. "I'll go talk with the Headmaster." They all went on their way. Sherlock turned back to investigating the body. All was silent except for the occasional slurping sound from Neal. Finally Sherlock stood up with a smirk of his face.

"You got anything?" Lestrade asked him.

"Not much."

"Well she's German." Anderson appeared in the doorway. "'Rache'. German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us who her killer is-"

"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock slammed the door on his nose.

"So she's not German?" Asked Lestrade.

"Of course not, she's from Cardiff."

"How do you know that?"

"She recently bought a new umbrella; the resets in her pocket. The Daily Prophet said this morning that Cardiff is experiencing its warmest, wettest winters in is history. She was preparing for when she went home."

"Brilliant," John said to himself.

"She's an aspiring journalist," Sherlock continued, "judging by her color coordination and the alarming amount of pink. She also has a lot of snogging partners-"

"Sherlock," Lestrade cut in, "if you just making this up-"

"Her jewelry," he said waving a hand over the body, "has all been regularly cleaned except for the necklaces holding her boyfriend's school ring. He's a muggle, they do that. The only thing on it thats shiny is the clasp where shes been unfastening it. Now, she'd never be able to maintain the appearance of being single snogging just one person here at school, so obviously there are multiple."

"It's not obvious to me," John piped up.

"Queenscove, what do you think?" Sherlock asked looking at the Gryffindor in the corner, who was now munching on a bag of nuts.

"She's dead," he said plainly.

"Yes," agreed Sherlock, "perfectly sound analysis but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

The older boy handed his snack over to Lestrade and kneeled beside the body. Neal bent down as if listening for something before straightening and taking out his wand. He muttered a few spells under his breath causing the light in the room to change through a range of colors. Neal then reached a hand back to Lestrade, who made a face and place some nuts in his hand. After chewing thoroughly Neal spoke.

"Yup. Asphyxiation," he said, "Passed out and choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. But there are spells to get rid of that. Not uncommon of upper years to down a few before going home, most don't die though. Aren't any muggle drugs in her system, my spells would have told us that. Still... it seems like she had a seizure. Don't know what would cause that at this age-"

"Yes you do," Sherlock told him.

"Wait." Neal sat back on his heels. "Is this another one of those suicides? Like the stuff in the papers?"

"Sherlock's convinced they're murders," John informed him.

"Yeah," added Lestrade, "and I'm starting to believe him."

"Wheres her handbag?" Sherlock asked to no one in particular.

"Handbag?" Lestrade said giving Neal another round of snacks.

"Yes, medium in size," he replied spinning around, "She must have a journal or something. It will help explain who Rachel is."

"She was writing Rachel?" Asked Lestrade.

"No, she was writing an angry note in German," Sherlock said sarcastically, "Of course she was writing Rachel. Only question is why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"Why do you say handbag?" Queried Neal.

"Her cloak. Theres a dry spot under her arm where it would have been held. The rest of her slightly damp from the snow. Now where is it? What have you done with it?"

"Amazing," said John as Lestrade turned to yell down to Maria.

"Do you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock asked him in a hushed voice.

"Oh, sorry," John stated embarrassed.

"No, its quite, alright." Sherlock looked mildly amused.

"There was no handbag," Lestrade said coming back in the room.

"What? There has to have been." Sherlock ran to the top of the stairs and shouted down. "Has anyone seen a pink handbag?"

"Theres no bag, Holmes," Maria called from the bottom floor, "There never was one."

"There has to be," he said to himself, "But its not here. Where else would it be? Oh! Serial killers are always hard, you have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We don't have time to wait for anything," Sally called up.

"We're done waiting! Look, really look," cried Sherlock, "Huston we have one."

"One what?" Asked John. Sherlock turned to smile at him.

"A mistake."

* * *

It was past curfew by the time the gang of murder investigators made back on school grounds. The night had decided to start snowing again. Although the flakes came down gentle, John's cloak did little against the freezing cold. He wished he had his favorite jacket, that he had left back home. John walked silently with Sherlock in the back of the group.

"I need to find that bag," Sherlock finally muttered.

"What?"

"John during the Christmas Break I need you to help me find her handbag. I'll send you an owl as to where to meet when you get home."

"Uh, well," John started, "I'm actually not going home for Christmas. I'm staying here, at Hogwarts."

"Why?"

"Well, I really don't want to have to deal with my family. In all honesty," admitted John. Sherlock looked at him for a moment.

"You didn't tell me," he commented.

"I don't tell you a lot of things Sherlock. I have my own life."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing," grumbled John, limping up the steps to the school, "Nothing at all."

* * *

**Authors Note Con:**

**New from Tamora Pierce Universe- ****Nealan "Neal" Queenscove, ****Joren, and the other bullies (if you know the books you know who they are, but their names will be stated in the next section)**

**Part C is done and I'll post it when I finish part D, the last part for year one! I'm very excited about how this is coming out. Work for school is revving up right now to finish the year but my spring break is coming up, so hopefully I'll be able finish off the story soon. After that I'll be writing three stories at once: John year two, the next person in my Hogwarts AU (from a different TV show), and one that takes place in the past of this same AU. Plus I'm still trying to finish a story with my friends that we started almost a year ago. AHHH! So much writing!**

**Anyway, thanks again to everyone who helped me edit.**

**Special thanks to the people who have read this so far and reviewed. It means a lot to me.**


	3. Year 1 Part C

**Authors Note: I don't own anything. Check the bottom for who's from what.**

* * *

The Hogwarts Express left the week before Christmas Day with all of the students who were not saying at the school over the holiday. Sherlock Holmes was on that train; John Watson was not. This was the first time since the start of school that John was truly Sherlock free. No random deductions, no spontaneous journeys to the far edges of the castle, and no leering presence at his side scaring people off. Sherlock had even taken Skull the flying lizard skeleton home with him. For the first time, John could do whatever he wanted.

He was bored out of his mind by the second day.

So when Neal Queenscove found him face planted on a table in the library, John looked pretty pathetic. And Neal told him as much.

"If I wanted your opinion I'd ask," John mumbled into the table. Neal just laughed.

"Come on. Up you get," he said hosting John up from his seat, "Just because your Best Friend's not here doesn't mean you can mope around all day."

"He's not my 'Best Friend'. I not even sure he can have friends."

"A-uh." The older boy lead John out of the library and down the corridor.

"Where are you taking me?" John asked after several minutes of walking.

"To the Gryffindor common room."

"What? Why?"

"Well we can't go to yours. Believe me, that place is like a fortress," Neal said before

pausing to look at John, "Did you know it sprays you with awful smelling stuff if you're not a Hufflepuff? Even if you get the pass-pattern right! It takes weeks to get rid of the smell."

"And yet," commented John, "you keep trying."

"Yup." They continued down the hallway.

"So why do we need to go to a common room?"

"Well John, I've noticed that you like having adventures."

"Did Kel tell you that?"

"She didn't have too," admitted Neal. "I've also noticed that Sherlock, no matter how annoying he may seem, is your best bet at having adventures. Now John, as of right now he's fine bringing you around with him because he get a kick out of your reaction to his deduction. But eventually that will end and he'll stop."

John nodded in understanding. The idea had occurred to him before.

"So what you need to do is find a way to be useful to him," Neal continued.

"And how do I do that?"

"You become good at something he doesn't have the time to learn."

"We're talking about Sherlock Holmes here. The Sherlock Holmes. What doesn't that kid know already?"

"For one thing, medical stuff. Why do you think he puts up with me? As long as I'm a use to him, I can do whatever I want. So thats what I'm offering you, John."

"What?"

"I'm going to teach you stuff about being a Healer. That way I don't always have to help him and you can."

"How do you know all this stuff anyway?"

"I attended the Tortallan University of Magical Medicine for five years. Would have graduated this year if I hadn't dropped out last year and started here."

"You went to the University? I didn't know that."

"How did you think I became the oldest First Year to grace these grounds? I'm only a Second Year now and I'm already 16."

"You really think I could learn that stuff?"

"John," the Gryffindor said swinging an arm around the younger's shoulders, "I think you'll get it in a flash."

From then on John now spent every Wednesday night and Saturday afternoon learning Healer's skills from Neal.

* * *

"He's back." Anne Hudson came up and told John in the Great Hall.

"Who is?" He asked confused.

"Why Sherlock, dear," she replied, "He's over in the flat right now."

John jumped up from his seat and rushed out of the Great Hall as fast as his limp would carry him. Five minutes later he was stumbling up the steps to the flat only to find Sherlock glaring at a bright pink handbag.

"Your back!"

"Of course," said Sherlock eyes locked on the bag.

"You could have come and said 'hello' before shutting yourself away," commented John, "That way I wouldn't have to hear it from Anne."

"You would have realized eventually." Sherlock still wouldn't look at him. "I didn't see the point in going out of my to inform you of my return."

"Right, no point in telling your friend anything." Sherlock gaze snapped up to look at him.

"I don't have _friends_," he hissed back at John.

"Your right. You just have me."

With that John went about tidying up the space Sherlock had already transformed into a disaster zone. But as he turned to greet Skull, John could swear he saw a smile fighting its way onto the Slytherin's face.

* * *

John was walking back into the castle after a particularly grueling Herbology lesson when a letter dropped onto his head. He looked up to see an unfamiliar owl flying over. Thinking the letter must be intended for someone else, John turned to give it to its rightful recipient. But there was no one around. His classmate had already made it up the hill to the castle entrance.

He was about to call to them when something caught his eye. On the front of the letter was a name, written in neat cursive.

**John H. Watson**

He froze. Taking a deep breath John popped the letter's blue seal and read the note inside.

**There is an owl on the tree to your left. Do you see it?**

"What? Who is this, who's writing me letters?" John mumbled to himself before another landed at his feet. He picked it up. This one read:

**Do you see the owl Mr. Watson?**

John looked up to the tree. There a Barn Owl sat perched in one of the lower branches staring right at him. It's gaze was unnerving and John swallowed nervously.

"Yeah, I see it." The third letter came almost immediately, making John feel like less of idiot for talking out loud to himself.

**Watch.**

John looked back up to the Barn Owl in time to see it turn it's head all the way around. After doing so it continued to stare at him. The sight made John's skin crawl. Another letter landed in his hands.

**There is another owl on the wall opposite you.**

This one was a Great Horned Owl. It also turned its head around to continue to gaze at him. The fifth letter landed on his head. John swore to himself before opening it.

**And finally at the top of the Greenhouse on your right.**

It was a beautiful Snowy Owl and like the others its head turned around.

"How are you doing this?" John called out looking around for the controller of the owls. He didn't get an answer instead a final letter landed at his feet.

**Go with the girl, Mr. Watson. I would make some sort of threat but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you.**

John looked up from the letter to find a Ravenclaw with curly brown hair walking passed him. She held a book in front of her nose and didn't make any motion that she saw him. He looked around for a moment, after seeing no one else around John stumbled after the Ravenclaw.

She looked to be a third year and, if John was honest, she was very attractive. When they reached the school she lead them through the halls with ease. After some time in silence John managed the courage to talk.

"Hello."

"Hi," she said glancing at him.

"What's your name, then?"

"Uh," she paused to think, "Anthea."

"Is that your real name?"

"No." She smiled and kept walking.

"I'm John."

"Yes, I know," the girl 'Anthea' said without looking up from her book.

"Any point in asking where I'm going?" John asked casually. She turned to look him over. Whatever she saw made her sigh quietly.

"None at all, John." 'Anthea' smiled. He nodded in reply.

"Okay."

* * *

When 'Anthea' finally left him, John found himself in a classroom. It obviously wasn't still in use because dust covered every surface. There were cobwebs on all of the desks, most of which had splitting wood. There were two new additions to the room however. One was a simple chair at the front of the room. The other was a teacher's desk on which sat a fourth year Ravenclaw. He sat staring at an umbrella which he spun on the floor before him. When he heard the door close the Ravenclaw looked up. Seeing John, he smiled.

"Have a seat, John." The fourth year said using his umbrella to gesture to the chair in front of him.

"You know, we go to the same school," John commented limping forward, "Very clever and all that with the owls, but uh, you could have just talked to me. In the hallway, or at lunch because, we're at the same school."

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes one learns to be discreet. Hence this place." He gestured to the room with his umbrella. "The leg must be hurting you. Sit down." The older boy ordered, pointing to the chair once more.

"I don't want sit down." John was never good at following orders. The other boy looked at the smaller Hufflepuff for a while before commenting.

"You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening," countered John. The teen laughed at the comment. He had a familiarity about him the John couldn't quite place. Something about his changing grey eyes.

"Yes, the bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"Well I've had to put up with him for the whole school year so far now, so I'd say that we're on friendly terms."

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't have friends," the Ravenclaw said darkly.

"Don't I know it," John grumbled half to himself. "But, well, whatever it is we are, he has me."

"Does he now?" The older boy asked, raising an eyebrow. There it was again, that _thing_John had seen before. But what was it?

"Who are you anyway?"

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock, why?" John tensed, remembering the last group of people he had meet with an interest in the Slytherin. This guy didn't seem like the type to get physically violent though. Not with his nicely pressed uniform. "You've just admitted he doesn't have friends."

"I, Mr. John H. Watson," smiled the teen leaning forward, "am the closest thing to a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what is that?"

"An enemy."

"An enemy, really?"

"In his mind certainly. If you were to ask him he'd probably say his arch enemy." The Ravenclaw said playing with his umbrella again. "He does love to be dramatic."

"Well thank God you're above all that." John missed the icy glare his company gave him for he was hit in the head with a paper airplane. He recognised it as one of Sherlock's and opened it to read the message:

**Come at once if convenient.**

_Oh,_though the Hufflepuff releasing what had been bugging him.

"I hope I'm not distracting you," said the older boy trying to gain his attention yet again. John chuckled.

"You're not distracting me at all." He smiled up at the Ravenclaw's familiar grey eyes.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business."

"It could be," offered the teen.

"It really couldn't," commented the blond, irritated.

"If you do continue to associate with Sherlock Holmes I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to easy your way."

"Why?" John asked firmly.

"Because you're not from a wealthy family."

"In exchange for what?"

"For information, nothing indiscrete, nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?" asked John yet again.

"I worry about him, constantly," the Ravenclaw said bluntly. _There you go,_John thought smiling, _That wasn't so hard to admit now was it?_Out loud he said;

"That's nice of you."

"But I would prefer for various reasons if my concerned went on mentioned," the fourth year continued, "We have you might call a, difficult relationship." Another plane tapped John on the shoulder.

**If inconvenient come anyway.**

"Any kind of relationship with Sherlock is hard. Must be hellish to be his brother," commented John smiling. The elder Holmes froze.

"Has he told you about me?"

"He didn't have to. And you can keep your money." The Hufflepuff turned to leave when he saw the older boy swing the umbrella towards his head. Kel's training kicked in and John raised his cane to block the attack. Holmes the elder kept applying the pressure as a smile bloomed on his face.

"You're very loyal, very quickly," the grey eyed youth said taking another swing with his umbrella.

"That's kinda the point of being a Hufflepuff." John blocked yet again.

"Trust issues." The Ravenclaw tried a lunge this time. When their makeshift swords collided again, John realized he was being tested. "That's what it said in your file. Could it be that you've decided to trust my brother of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?" John switched his cane to his dominant left hand and came down on the teen. The older Holmes twisted out of the way, leaving him to slam down on an old desk. It proceeded to shattered under the force of the swing. Taking a breath John turned to his opponent only to find the Ravenclaw looking mildly impressed.

"Are we done?" asked John. The older boy raised an eyebrow.

"You tell me," he commented before sighing and running his hand through his brown hair to flatten it. "I imagine people already told you to stay away from Sherlock Holmes but I can see from your left hand that that's not going to happen."

"My what?" asked the first year, confused.

"Show me." Elder Holmes held out his hand for John's. He sighed and did as asked. The teen placed his against the John's fingertips and after a moment commented, "Remarkable."

"What is?" wondered the Hufflepuff, snatching his hand away self consciously.

"Most people blunder around in life seeing only the simple things." The fourth year gestured dramatically to around them. "Like shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield. You've seen it already haven't you?"

"What's wrong with my hand?" John asked quietly.

"You have an intimate tremor in your left hand. Your Healers thinks is post traumatic stress disorder. They thinks you're haunted by memories of Afghanistan of your uncle's death-"

"Shut up," he warned darkly. The older boy paused before continuing.

"Fire them. They've got it the wrong way around. You're under stress right now in your hand is perfectly still. You're not haunted by the war, Mr. Watson," the Ravenclaw leaned forward to stare him down, but the first year held his place, "you miss it." The grey eyed youth striated and smiled. "Welcome back."

He walked away, twirling his umbrella as he went.

"Time to choose a side Mr. Watson," Holmes the elder called over his shoulder before exiting the room. 'Anthea' caught the door before it could close.

"I'm to take you back," she informed John without looking up from her book. Over her head flew another paper airplane. The Hufflepuff snatched it out of the air and read what was written for him.

**Could be dangerous**

He gazed at the paper for a heartbeat before bursting out laughing. Startling 'Anthea' into looked up from her book.

"Yeah," giggled John, "no shit, Sherlock."

* * *

It wasn't until the next day in History of Magic that John got the chance to talk to Sherlock. The 'dangerous' task Sherlock had needed done was collecting mold samples from various locations in the castle. By the time John had finished it was past curfew and the Slytherin had vanished.

"So," began John, "I meet a friend of your's yesterday."

"A friend?" Sherlock looked at him in alarm.

"An enemy."

"Oh." The taller first year settled back into his seat. He steepled his fingers and gazed directly ahead. After a moment he asked idly, "Which one."

"According to him, your arch enemy. You know, most people don't have arch enemies."

"Most people are boring," commented Sherlock before raising his voice, "The answer is 1911 and the type of Gargoyles that were on strike were wildcats."

John realized he really should be paying attention to what Professor Olau was saying. After a few minutes of frantic note taking he had caught up to the current topic and turned back to Sherlock.

"I didn't know you had an older brother."

"If things had gone how I'd have liked you never would, either." he said making a face.

"Theres no reason to act like that," the Hufflepuff offered kindly, "He's your brother, you should talk to him."

"Like you talk to Harry, oh so much."

"Alright, alright, point taken." John grumbled turning back to the board.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" asked Sherlock after twenty minutes of silence.

"Yeah, and no, I didn't take it."

"Pity, we could have split it, think it through next time."

* * *

It was mid-February when John walked out of Charms and decided to take a different route to his next class. It wasn't for any reason in particular, he just felt like changing up his routine. Walking passed an unused hallway John heard the sound of ruffling fabric and scuffling feet. He quickly took out his wand, slowly creeping around the corner to see what was going on.

Before him stood the four Slytherins he had had the misfortune of running into on Halloween. The gang in green cornered Kel, a second year Hufflepuff, and a Gryffindor in John's Charms class: Owen Jesslaw. Going by the bruise blossoming on Kel's cheek, this confrontation was going the way of the last one.

"You two better go." Kel told her companions. She clenched her fists and stepped up to face Joren. He just laughed at her.

"Go ahead," he told the other two, gesturing to his group to let them go, "All we care about is the Lump."

The Hufflepuff took the opportunity to flee but Owen seemed to be frozen in place. He stood wide eyed taking in the scene.

"What's the matter kid? Not so brave when you're faced with a real threat?" The Fifth Year spat in Owen's face.

"Leave him be Vinson," said Kel, "This is just between us."

"You're right." He took a swing at her head but Kel ducked and tackled him. John rolled his eyes and quickly hobbled to her aid. Before he managed to get to her though John was confronted by the Fourth Year, whose name he still did not know. In one fluid movement John was able to dodge the attack and take out his wand.

"Flipendo!" Called John sending the older boy flying. But he didn't have time to relax because thats when the Prefect, Joren, was on him. John immediately set out a volley of spells, all of which Joren deflected. In one of his dodges John caught a glance of Kel still fist fighting with Vinson and Owen clinging to the last one's back like a monkey.

"You know you're a witch," John shouted over to her, "use your wand!"

"Oh, right. Confundus!"

"What's going on..." Came a voice down the hall John had just come. There stood a freckle covered Ravenclaw who went wide-eyed with fright and sprinted away.

"Great," grumbled John, deflection another of Joren's spell, "we'll have teachers on us in no time." Thats when the Fourth Year John had thrown managed to collect himself and go after John once more. Thankfully, Kel had finally pushed Vinson back and started flinging spells at Joren herself. They were faring well but John knew it wouldn't last long. Eventually the older, bigger, more educated Slytherins would over power them. John wasn't looking forward to the bruces and breaks that would result. Luckily for him and his companions Maria came storming down the other end of the hallway followed by the Hufflepuff who had run off at the beginning of the fight.

"Immobilus!" She cried, wand raised at the lot of them. John felt his limbs stuffed, locking place. He tried to raise his arms to no avail.

"You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves!" The Ravenclaw Prefect told them Face red with fury but voice controlled. "This is a school, a place of learning. Not a place for violence. Joren Stonemount you are a Prefect! Chosen by the Heads of House to represent this school and this is what you do with your power? Garvey Runnerspring," she continued looking the boy who John had been dueling, "Vinson Genlith, and Zahir ibn Alhaz," Maria said turning to the Slytherin Owen still clung to, "I can't believe that after everything we've been through and all the people who have sacrificed for us you would do this. Does all that mean nothing to you? I ought to go to the Headmaster right now and have all of you expelled-"

"That won't be necessary Maria," said a teen calmly from the other end of the hallway. He had black hair and intelligent blue eyes that matched the color in his House robe. Behind him trailed the freckled Ravenclaw that John saw run off earlier.

"Roald, they have been caught fighting. That is a serious offence. I must turn them over to the Headmaster for punishment."

"Let me take care of them," he said politely, "If they are caught again, I assure you they will be punished."

"I can't just let something like this go. It is my duty as a Prefect to-"

"Please Maria," said Roald quietly. Her expression softened slightly at his tone.

"Fine, alright." With a wave of her wand John gain the ability to move. Without a word Joren, Vinson, and Garvey took off down the hall. Zahir stood glaring at Owen.

"What?" The Gryffindor asked him.

"Get off my back," commanded the teen.

"Oh, right." With Owen finally detached, Zahir bowed his head to Roald and took off after his Housemates.

"Forty points from Slytherin, twenty from Hufflepuff, and ten from Gryffindor," list Maria. Roald gave her a look as pops rang through the air. "I said I wouldn't turn them in, not that I wouldn't take points away." She looked at each of them in turn, eyes resting on John as she said, "Don't let this happen again." Then she turned and left.

"Seaver, don't you have Potions test to study for?" Kel commented to the Hufflepuff that had gotten Maria. The boy nodded and walked in the direction of the common room. With him gone Roald let out a sign and seemed to physically relax. He no longer held the stiff formality he had had with Maria but he still had an air of authority. It was quiet for several moments.

"That was _jolly!_" Owen bursted out. Apparently a bloody nose and cut ear were of no importance to him. "Did you two learn to fight like that here?" He asked John and Kel.

"Well you all have been busy." Neal stood arms crossed some way down the hall. He strutted forward with a theatrical pout but his eyes held a real anger. "I thought we had a deal, Kel. We went with you and we dealt with that lot as a team." Roald and the boy who stood beside nodded.

"Don't yell at her!" Owen snapped. "You should have seen them fight. Kel had Vinson matched hit for hit. And John came running in and started flinging all sorts of spell. He was fantastic! Besides it was those Slytherin scum that started it!"

"They're not all so bad," John said quietly. The others turned to look at him. Straightening John crossed his arms and spoke louder. "What was going on here anyway? Why is it they wanted you so bad Kel?"

"I've been trying to stop their bullying of the younger years for some the past two years. I'm sorry you got mixed up in that John," she replied honestly.

"It's not your fault. They don't like that I hang out with Sherlock."

"Mycroft's younger brother?" Asked Roald. "But he's in their House, why would they-"

"Because he's an obnoxious git," John explained.

"And your best friend."

"Shove off Neal."

"Who are you guys talking about?" Owen asked.

"Sherlock Holmes," replied Kel, "You'll meet him before long if you hang out with John."

"Well if he's a friend of John's I'm sure I'll like him!"

"No you won't," commented John glumly. "Roald, what was Maria talking about? What had you all been through together?" The Ravenclaws eyes saddened.

"Its a long story John," he answered finally, "one filled with tragedy and I'd prefer not to tell it." John nodded, he respected that. He did, after all, have his own story he'd rather not tell. "Besides, I think we better get you all the Hospital Wing."

"No need," Neal said proudly, "John and myself can take care of it."

"I have no doubt in your abilities Neal," stated Roald, "But John is just a First Year, what could he possibly know about healing?"

"I've been teaching him." The Ravenclaw looked at John, who nodded.

"Then Kel and Owen are in good hands," Roald said smiling. He turned to his companion. "Come on Esmond, I've got a Transfiguration paper." John watched the pair leave.

"John, you going to help me with these two or not?"

"Oh, right. Episkey!"

* * *

**Authors Note Con:**

******New from Tamora Pierce Universe- Joren Stonemount (learned his last name), Garvey Runnerspring, Zahir ibn Alhaz, Vinson Genlith, Owen Jesslaw, Roald, Seaver, Esmond  
**

******So I'm putting this up without having finished part D yet. This week I have a big presentation, after that I will be able to focus of part D. The story that takes place a few years before this one is all plotted out and ready to be written. I have lost my little whiteboard that helps me plot and write these things. I have looked EVERYWHERE! It makes me sad.**

******Anyway, thanks for reading!**

******Thanks to those who edited my spelling. I apologize if there are any mistakes that got missed.**


	4. Year 1 Part D

**Authors Note: Blah blah blah, you've hear it all before. I don't own anything. Go to the bottom for more.**

* * *

"John!"

Sherlock's voice pulled John out of the daydream he'd been having in the middle History of Magic. John looked over at the Slytherin to find not-so-contained excitement. His companion was practically vibrating in the seat.

"Uh, yeah Sherlock?" John asked.

"I figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

"What's missing." With that Sherlock dashed out of the room. John blinked and ran after him. Not ten feet out the door John heard his name being called, again.

"John, what do you think you're doing?" Kel stood in front of the classroom door, hands on hips. "You guys can't just leave in the middle of class-"

"Sherlock's got a break in the case," interrupted John. Her expression shifted from controlled anger to serious.

"He's figured out who killed Jennifer Wilson and the others?" asked Ke, walking up to John.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But whatever it is he thinks its important."

"Okay." She nodded after a moment of thought. "I'll cover for you. But try not to do this too much." Kel walked back to the room. "Food poisoning, Sir." She said as the door closed behind her.

John sprinted down the hall towards room 221b. That was his best bet as to where Sherlock was. Halfway there, John stumbled with his cane, tripping over the thing, and fell face first on the ground. He had fallen hard on his injured leg and lay on the floor in pain for a minute. Gritting his teeth, John lifted himself off the floor and continued his way to 221b, limping heavily. By the time John got there Sherlock was throwing things into a luggage bag. The Hufflepuff settled into his chair stretching out his leg.

"You're going home for Easter break, John. I just sent the Headmaster a letter informing him of that. Pack when you back to your dorm this evening because the train taking the students home for Easter leaves tomorrow morning," Sherlock rambled adding more things to his bag.

"What?" Asked John confused. "Sherlock, I told you that I didn't want to go home."

"That was for Christmas, you could have changed your mind by now," commented the Slytherin, staring at Skull the skeleton bird.

"What did you realize?" The question hung in the air as Sherlock continued to have a staring contest with the living fossil. Finally Scull squawked with non-existent vocal cords.

"Fine," Sherlock said to the bird, "I'll take you home, if only because you'll bite off Ms. Hudson's fingers if she tries to feed you." Skull chirped happily, flying to land on Sherlock's shoulder and preen his raven hair. "But I'm not taking you on the case, you attract to much attention. Besides, I've got John to talk to now." For the first time since John's arrival Sherlock turned to look at him.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed in surprise, "What happened?"

"Um," stammered John trying to think of what Sherlock had seen on his face to get that reaction, "Well I've just been told that my plans are being changed on me and that I now have to go confront my family after months of isolation-"

"You fell."

"Oh, yeah, on the way over," remembered John, "You really need to stop running off like that. We're going to get in trouble-"

"A fall shouldn't have caused you that much pain," stated Sherlock frowning.

"I landed on my bad leg," John said quietly. Sherlock preceded to glare at the limb of conversation as if it had personally offended him. After a moment the Hufflepuff pulled his leg closer feeling unconformably. "So, what is it that you figured out? Why is it I'm going home for Easter?"

"I need you to send a message," continued Sherlock, snapping out of the mood he had fallen into.

"Why can't you send it?"

"Always a chance the hand writing will be recognized." Sherlock went over to lay on the couch across from the fire place. "They often post my letters to the editor in The Practical Potioneer."

"Um, okay." John made a motion to get paper from his book bag before realizing that it was back in the History of Magic room. Sighing to himself, John got up to search the piles for a clean piece. "So this is about the case?" he asked.

"Her case," corrected Sherlock.

"Her case?" John asked, having found paper, now looking for a quill.

"Her case, bag, yes, obviously. The murderer took her handbag. First big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case. So?" The Hufflepuff came over to stand by his companion.

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." Sherlock mumbled to himself. Without looking up he spoke to John, "I need you to write these words exactly: 'What happened at the Three Broomsticks? I blacked out. Meet me at twenty-two Northumberland Street in London on Tuesday at Noon to further our discussion. Please come.'"

"You didn't black out," John commented scribbling the note out.

"I'm talking from Jennifer Wilson's perspective."

"She's dead," commented John flatly handing Sherlock the note, "Been so for several months."

"But the murderer doesn't know that," said Sherlock with an air of smugness sitting up. He folded the paper into the shape of an airplane, taped it three times with his wand, and sent it flying.

"How could they not? She hasn't been in school and it was in the news-"

"Did you see it in the paper?" John thought back to _The Daily Prophets_in the weeks after the murder and to be honest, couldn't remember reading about it. Sherlock continued, "You presumed it was in the paper because all the others were and you know that she was murdered. In fact, it never made an edition. Only the people directly involved know what's really happened to Ms. Wilson."

"What was told to her family and friends?"

"Parents think she's still at Hogwarts and friends were told she changed schools." John stood still for a moment thinking.

"Mycroft or Lestrade?" he asked at last. Sherlock blinked.

"Ms. Hill actually, but no doubt they both had a hand in it." At this point he got up and walked straight over the coffee table. Sherlock grabbed a chair from the kitchen area. Placing it between the two arm chairs Sherlock dumped the contents of a pink handbag on it. Perched on his leather armchair, Sherlock stared at the hall to the stairs. John sat across from him.

"So this is Jennifer Wilson's bag."

"Yes, obviously." John gave Sherlock his don't-patronize-me look. Sherlock rolled his eyes, continuing sarcastically, "Oh, perhaps I should mention: _I_didn't kill her."

"I never said you did." John teased.

"Why not?" Sherlock look offended. "Given the message I just had you send and the fact I that have her bag, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John laughed. The Slytherin smiled.

"Now and then, yes." Sitting down into the seat properly, Sherlock continues to stare at the stairs entrance.

"Okay…" John started, "How did you get this?"

"By looking."

"Where?"

"The killer must have met her at the Three Broomsticks and taken her to the building where she died. He could only keep her bag by accident if he took it from her. Nobody could be seen with this bag without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely. I'm surprised you didn't ask about it when I came back from vacation," Sherlock admitted, "Didn't it strike you as odd that I'd have a pink lady's handbag?"

"Everything about you strikes me as odd, Sherlock," replied John. "I try not to sweat over the little things."

"Alright then," said the Slytherin slowly, thinking over his companion's words. "So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a grown male five minutes from the building and anywhere you could dispose of an object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"Pink. You got _all_that because you realized the bag would be pink?"

"Well, it _had_to be pink, obviously." Sherlock gave up looking at the stairs and started collecting more things to bring home over holiday.

"Why didn't I think of that?" John mumbled to himself.

"Because you're an idiot." Replied his companion absentmindedly. John glared at the back of the Slytherin's head. Without turning, Sherlock waved him off. "Don't give me that look, practically everyone is." Sherlock came back over to sit across from John. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?" He pointed at the objects dumped on the seat between them.

"From the bag? How _could _I?" replied John pointedly.

"Her wand. Where's her wand? There was no wand on the body, there's no wand in the bag. We know she had one, can't be a wizard otherwise, and we just sent a message to it."

"Maybe she left it at school."

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She _never_leaves her wand anywhere."

"Er … Why did we just send that message?" Sherlock smiled.

"Well, the question is: where is her wand _now_?"

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or ...?"

"The murderer ... You think the murderer has the wand?"

"Maybe he took it from her," shrugged Sherlock. "The balance of probability is the murderer has her wand."

"Sorry, what are we doing?" asked John, startled. "Did I just write to a murderer? What good will that do?"

There was a tapping at the window. The two boys turned to see a brown owl looking in at them with a letter tied to its leg. Sherlock stood and crossed the room to stand by the window. Skull the skeleton launched off the spot on the mantle to land on the sill.

"After months of hearing nothing on his last victim, he receives a message that can only be from her. If somebody had just _found_that wand they'd ignore a message like that, but the murderer..." Sherlock slowly opened the latch to the window. After a moment's pause, he throw it open and Scull leaped after the owl. "...would panic!"

* * *

The next day the boys sat on the Hogwarts Express headed towards London. And for John, that meant towards his mother whom he had barely talked to sense his return from Afghanistan. John didn't know if it was a good or bad thing that Harry was also going home for break, but she was. In the meantime the Hufflepuff was trying every method he could muster not to think about it.

"So did Skull catch the owl?" John asked, watching Sherlock pet the skeleton bird.

"It did," replied Sherlock with a frown, "But by that point the letter was ruined."

"Did you ask Mycroft whose owl it was?"

"It's one of the general owls the school owns. Mycroft was able to give me a list of all the past employers of that owl. All of whom, after some investigation, I was able to eliminate as suspects." Frustration was clearly seen of the Slytherin's face.

"So why is it I am being forced to leave Hogwarts?" asked John, hoping to finally get an answer.

"Because we're going to catch a murderer."

"Of course we are."

* * *

The home visit hadn't gone as bad as it could have. John's mom had met him and Harry on the Muggle side of the gate to Platform 9 3/4. She had pulled them both into tight, quick hugs and helped them with their luggage. They sat in anticipated silence all the way home. Once there John went up to his room and flopped onto the bed. A couple hours later his mom called him down for dinner. No one would look at each other for a long while. Finally, John attempted to start a casual conversation. There was a sudden clatter of dropping silverware, rustle of fabric and John found himself being gripped in a tight hug. His mom cried quietly against his head, wetting his hair with tears. John shifted in his seat to hug her back properly. After a few minutes, John's mom kissed his forehead and sat back down at the table. Harry continued to stare at her plate.

An hour after dinner Harry kicked open John's door in a rather dramatic fashion. She stood in the threshold for a long moment staring at him before rushing forward and putting him in a headlock. After a being significantly nugied and tickled into a laughing fit, John was left on the floor of his room. Things got better after that, Good Friday went over well and they managed to get through Easter Sunday. Soon after that though, Harry started being her a**hole self again and John's mom felt the need to make up for an entire school year of parenting in the course of a week. By the time Sherlock came around Tuesday morning to pick him up, John was glad to get out of the house.

"Not as bad as you had expected," his Slytherin friend commented as John made his way down from the stoop, "And your sister is even attempting to be sober for the weekend."

"Oh, shut it," John huffed stumbling down the steps. "Where to now?"

"Northumberland Street, not too far from here," replied Sherlock, spinning off down the road. John trailed behind him, trying to keep up with Sherlock's longer legs. He, like John, was dressed in casual clothes that could blend in with the Muggles around them.

_Well, _thought John, looking up at his companion whose long coat flapped at his knees, _I'll blend in and at least it's not a dress robe. _

* * *

They made it to the Northumberland Street with little trouble. But instead of heading to the address Sherlock had put in the message, he walked into a nearby restaurant. He greeted the waiter by name and sat at the booth by the window. John sat with his back facing the window.

"Sherlock!" A man came over, smirking. John watched the pair shake hands. "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and your date."

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked John, who was too busy looking at the man to hear.

"I'm not his date."

"This kid got me off a murder charge," continued the man, shaking John's hand.

"This is Angelo," explained Sherlock, "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade's father that at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder, Angelo was in a completely different part of town house-breaking."

"He cleared my name."

"I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?"

"Nothing." Angelo turned back to John. "But if not for this kid, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison."

"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic."

"I'm not his date!"

"You may as well eat. We have some time to wait."

Angelo came back and put a tea-light on the table. He gave John a thumbs-up before walking away.

"Why does he assume we're dating," John grumbled to himself as he picked up the menu. Sherlock turned to look at him.

"It is understandable to assume when you see to people eating together that they are on a date."

"Yes, except this is lunch not dinner, which is not really a date time of the day. And he clearly knows you, so he knows how unbearable you can be. No offence, but it's true." Sherlock just shrugged. "Plus you're working a case, which he is familiar with you doing. Can he honestly believe that you would be on a date while the clock is ticking? I can barely get you to eat, mine as well go out when you're on the job."

"Good," Sherlock said after a moment. He smiled slightly. "You're catching on."

"Well I'm not an idiot if that's what you mean. Besides, he missed the obvious."

"Which is?" Sherlock probed.

"We're eleven! At this age we can barely keep up with school work and normal relationships. Might as well adding romantic ones to the mix. Way too young for girlfriends or boyfriends," John grumbled the last part into his lap. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Your sister knew what she liked when she was nine and started dating soon after she started at Hogwarts."

"How did you- no, never mind I don't want to know. And we can't all be Harry."

"Indeed."

"So there," John stated proud of himself, "it's not a perfectly 'understandable to assume' type of thing."

"Understandable to assume with limited brain capacity. I never said it was the right assumption, something I am thankful you are able to comprehend. Besides, you're obviously into girls and will start attempts at romantic relationships within the next year."

"What?"

"Your crush on Ms. Mindelan is quite noticeable if you know what to look for."

"Well then, thank God not everyone's not Sherlock Holmes."

"You should still try to be less obvious."

"I wasn't planning to act on it. I like being her friend and it will probably pass."

"Hm," Sherlock hummed, "It must be an older mentor figure thing then, because she has feeling towards Queenscove that she plans to deal with in a similar manner."

"What about you then?" John asked curious. Surely the genius had put some thought into his own preferences if he knows John's for the foreseeable future. It was quiet for a moment.

"I consider myself married to my work." Sherlock said softly without looking John in the eye.

"That's fine." Sherlock just nodded and looked out the window. "Hey." John leaned forward to poke him in the arm, gaining Sherlock's startled attention. "It's all fine," continued John gesturing with his hand to the situation at large.

"Good, thank you."

Some time after getting his food, John realized that Sherlock was wearing a blue scarf. This was a color he rarely saw on the Slytherin, but it made sense.

"Why aren't you a Ravenclaw?" John asked mid bite. Sherlock's head snapped to look at him.

"What?" The taller youth asked practically spitting venom. John blinked, _right then, sore subject._

"I mean," stammered John, trying to phrase it better, "you've definitely got the brain for it and blue suits you. Plus I'm sure Mycroft would have been pleased-"

"I try to avoid pleasing Mycroft as much as possible-"

"Yes, well, that may be true, but that fact alone won't land you in the House of your choosing."

"It's because I get bored."

"What?"

"I get bored and when I get bored my brain rots. It's not just satisfied with having a lot of knowledge, I have to use it. Therefore I have a goal, keeping busy, and I do everything in my power to achieve it. Which is very Slytherin. Ravenclaws are content without a goal as long as they obtain knowledge. Slytherins need goals to function, knowledge just happens to be a by product."

"Isn't that kind of a paradox though?" asked John. "I get what you're saying that you need to keep your brain busy and as a result have a goal. But the reason your brain needs that in the first place is because you're so smart. It's kind of a catch 22."

"Look across the street," Sherlock interrupted, "Taxi." John twisted in his seat to look out the window. On the other side of the road sat a black taxi, engine still running. "Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out. Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is that clever? Why is it clever?"

"That's him," John asked.

"Don't stare."

"You're staring."

"We can't both stare." Sherlock flung on his coat and sprinted across the street, John at his heels. By the time they got in front of 22 Northumberland Street the cab had pulled away.

"I've got the cab number," panted John.

"Good for you."

What resulted was a frantic chase through the streets of London. At the beginning John tried to take shortcuts that, being a native Londoner, he knew. Sherlock had other plans though, calling John back to follow the map in his head. To John's amazement, Sherlock's internal GPS with all its crazy rooftops leaps and passes through stranger's flats ended up getting them just ahead of the taxi. Sherlock sprinted out of an ally only to hurl himself into the path of the cab. The taxi slid to a halt allowing Sherlock to roll off the bonnet and onto the ground. Pedestrians stopped as a man leaped from the back of the cab and rushed to Sherlock's side. John pushed his way through the gathering crowd to the Slytherin's side.

"You okay, kid?" asked the man from the cab. John noticed his American accent. Sherlock sat holding his left elbow staring at the man.

"No." He leaned forward to get a better look at the man. "Teeth, tan, what, Californian?"

"Hu?" Sherlock got to his feet and yanked open the cab door. His eyes searched the seat before closing with a sigh.

"L.A. Santa Monica, just arrived," grumbled Sherlock slamming the door.

"How could you possibly know that?" John wondered.

"The luggage. It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?"

"Sorry, who are you kids?" the American asked as the crowd dispersed.

"The Police," the Slytherin stated straight faced flashing a badge, "everything all right?"

"Yeah," chuckled the American, "everything's just fine."

"Welcome to London." Sherlock then walked away.

"Er." John watched his companion stroll off. "Any problems, just let us know." Giving a smile he took off after the Slytherin as the American laughed behind him. "So, basically just a cab that happened to slow down."

"Basically."

"Not the murderer."

"Not the murderer, no," confirmed Sherlock.

"Wrong country, good alibi."

"As they go."

"Where did you get this?" John asked reaching for the badge in Sherlock's hand. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah, your Housemate's father. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. It's charmed to have a Muggle form, hard to explain what an Auror is. You can keep that one, I've got plenty." John nodded stunned and then broke out in giggles. "What?"

"Nothing, just 'Welcome to London'." Sherlock smiled at him and laughed as well. They looked down the street to where the cab still sat. The American was laughing and talking to a police officer. He pointed in their direction.

"Got your breath back?" Sherlock asked looking at John's right hand.

"Ready when you are."

* * *

Minutes later they arrived back at John's house. He walked up the steps, unlocked the door, and held it open for Sherlock. The Slytherin entered only to pause in the foyer. John stepped around him to toe off his shoes by the rest of his families.

"Okay, that was ridiculous," panted John, hanging up his coat in the closet. He took down a hanger and handed it to Sherlock. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you went to Afghanistan." John laughs.

"That wasn't just me."

Sherlock chuckled only to wince in pain. He gripped his left elbow. Rushing forward John gently helped him out of his coat. After rolling up his sleeve, John was able to see the deep purple bruise forming.

"I thought you were faking," said John quietly.

"It's really not that bad-"

"I thought you were putting on a show. Oh, God, I'm such an idiot!"

"John, dear," called his mother from upstairs, "is everything alright?"

"Uh, I'm fine Mum, but my-" he paused and looked at Sherlock, who raised an eyebrow, "Uh, I've told you about Sherlock, right? Yeah, well he's went and got himself hurt." She thundered down the stairs in seconds. Taking Sherlock's arm, her fingers expertly feathered over the area checking for breaks.

"Well at least it's not broken. Come on let's get you some ice." She steered the boys into the kitchen. Twenty minutes later, Sherlock's elbow was wrapped and iced. All the while he grumbled about how John could fix him in no time with magic. John had then reminded him (again) that they couldn't use magic outside of Hogwarts without a visit by the Ministry. Now they sat sipping juice boxes and nibbling biscuits at the dining table. John's mom had gone back upstairs to whatever it was she was doing. From the the sound of it John suspected she was cleaning his room.

"So, what are we doing now?" He asked Sherlock.

"Oh, just passing the time," said Sherlock taking a bite of a biscuit, "And proving a point."

"What point?"

"You," he said with a smile, "At lunch you realize why I'm a Slytherin. Well, I know why you're a Hufflepuff."

"Yeah, why's that?"

"You're more concerned with my well being than your own."

"Says who?"

"Says the man at the door."

Right on cue the bell rang.

"Harry! Get the door!"

"Yeah, Mum, I'm going, I'm going."

John gave Sherlock a look.

"John, it's for you!"

Walking to the door, John found his sister giving Angelo the stink eye. The restaurantier smiled.

"Sherlock messaged me. He said you forgot this." Angelo held up John's cane.

"Ah, er, thank you. Thank you."

* * *

**Authors Notes Con:**

**Um... I don't think I added anyone new in this chapter... Well John's mom and Harry are finally seen but they're part of the Sherlock BBC Universe which I haven't noted characters from in the past. I'm assuming that if you're reading this you've seen the series and know of them (even if John's mom is never mentioned, he needed one, okay?).**

**Anyway, I was planning on this being the last section but then it got 20 pages long. So I split it up. The next section will be the final one though. Promise! (Don't quote me, just in case.)**

**Thanks to those how fix my spelling (and remind me that cab's in London are black).**

**Please review! I spend so much time thinking up this stuff and I love hearing feedback from other people. Even if it's to say I should have done something a different way or that I have horrible spelling. Or how un-British my wording is. (I try, I really do, but I'm not, so its tough)**

**PS - If you were wondering, I found my little white board, and lost it again. But now I know that its somewhere in the house. I also finished that collaboration story I was doing with a friend. It took us over 14 months!  
**


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